There are days when I have a general emotional discomfort: my breathing is tight, a small knot in my core seems to tie my inspiration and enthusiasm into a restricted ball, my focus is murky, and it feels like there’s a haze between me and the beauty pouring out all around me — I see it, I recognize it, yet I don’t feel it beyond an intellectual noticing.

I used to think that feeling was a sign of emptiness, of a need to drink in fortifying sensory experiences and read words that might act as emotional elixir to refill my dry internal well.

But I’ve just realized it’s not that at all – this isn’t emptiness I’m feeling; it’s fullness.

Fullness looking for an outlet.  Love wishing for expression and the reciprocal gift of open reception. Compassion looking for a home to rest its full baskets of heartfelt caring.  A heart beating with the strength of God and looking for a sky to play its rhythms through the colors of a sunrise or the whispering harmonies of a sunset.

So I write. Sometimes for public, sometimes for private, and all times to give love.

After all, what is art really but an expression of our deepest love?

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